


The Thing About Sirius Black

by byebyebluejay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Happy, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i don't know guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 08:32:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13430922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byebyebluejay/pseuds/byebyebluejay
Summary: In the afterglow, Remus considers just what it is about Sirius that makes him so lovable and gorgeous. Remus's mental love-letter to Sirius, really. At least, until Sirius notices he's zoned out.





	The Thing About Sirius Black

The thing about Sirius Black was that his hair ached to be touched. In the morning, it was a messy jumble of curls, stuck up at odd angles if he hadn’t put it up the night before, and was escaping its ties if he had. It was all but asking Remus to smooth and stroke, to comb his hands through the locks, or help Sirius redo his braid. After a shower, when it fell heavy around his shoulders, clinging to his neck, it dribbled water down Sirius’s back, so that Remus couldn’t help but look. He wanted to chase the drops of water with his fingertips, or better yet his tongue. And when it was dry, brushed and arranged, it was too lovely to bear the thought of mussing. It caught shadow and threw light, glossy dark and long and soft enough that Remus could only think of kissing and stroking it like a beautiful, delicate thing. If not that, then grabbing a handful of it and pulling, because it was too perfect to be _right_. 

But no, not that. Not his hair. His hair was gorgeous, but that didn’t capture Sirius’s charm. No, the thing about Sirius was his hands. Long-fingered, graceful hands that Sirius talked with. Not overenthusiastically. He didn’t wave them around most of the time, or use them to emphasize words, but they spoke their own language. When Sirius said, ‘my friend Lily and I’ his fingers touched his temple, curled back over the shell of his ear, and said, ‘look at this braid, isn’t she clever?’. When Sirius said, ‘so, the tune up on the bike is nearly done’ the rub of his index finger against the table whispered, ‘I’m dying to go for a fly’. Elegant, but also so beautifully expressive, Sirius’s hands. Able to speak full, silent paragraphs in simple gestures, in harmony to his voice. 

His voice! His mouth! That was the thing about Sirius. Remus could barely even look at his hands when he was talking because of his mouth, his voice, his words. The way Sirius’s mouth shaped his name so carefully, with every ‘Rem’ and ‘Remus’ melting into the hint of a smile. The way Sirius always said ‘Moony’ like he loved the feeling of the word in his mouth. The curve of his lips when he was pleased; that stupid feline sort of smugness he showed when he was right about something petty that others had doubted him on, the sharper, sly angle they cut when he had come up with some dangerous plan or idea. The indecent way his lips opened, just a little, full and soft and kissable, when he was absorbing someone else’s words wholesale. The rumble of his voice in his chest, his uncontainable, barking laughter… Even if Remus had only ever listened to his voice, he still would have been in deep for Sirius. 

Then there was the way Sirius moved. Like his hands, but different. Sirius’s hands spoke, but Sirius’s body _evoked_. Emotion. Action. Memory. The way Sirius walked, the way he placed his feet, the position of shoulders: they set the mood for the rest of the world. James preened in public and showed off whenever he could. He had to ask for attention. But Sirius just drew it to him. A jutting elbow combined with a lean to his hips, and the social center of gravity aligned with him. With a long-legged lope and a specific tilt of his head, he could set a whole room at ease. Or at least Remus. And all Sirius had to do was take a running leap for a bed, a person, a tree branch, and Remus would be sunk into images of sunbaked limbs in summer, curling in that hot, fast plummet before breaking into a cold pond, and the dappled shade under elm trees, and frosted butterbeers. Magic in movement. The utter bastard. 

Maybe it was something else entirely about Sirius that elicited an ache in Remus’s chest any time he got too close, even after years. Or else, it was all of it. The knife-edged light in those steel bright eyes when he leaned in close. The way he sounded when he whispered against Remus’s ear under the cover of night, breath warm, lips warmer. His untamable, interminable spirit: spitting hexes at his mother, his father, his cousin under the gaze of seven generations of portraits in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. A proud blood traitor who listened to too much Bowie and too much horrible garage punk music and put on eyeliner unfairly well, and was, of all things, a dog at heart. Improbable, impossible Sirius Black. His Sirius, anyways. 

“You’re drooling, Rem,” Sirius wiped the spit from his own lips and chin and smiled as he rested his cheek on Remus’s inner thigh, “Was I that good?” A few strands of hair had fallen into Sirius’s face, and Remus reached down to brush them away, tucking them behind Sirius’s ear. 

“What sort of a question is that?” Remus asked, touching his mouth to ensure that he was not, in fact, drooling. Sirius laughed, the sound breaking through the post-orgasmic haze, and Remus couldn’t help but grin back.

“Come on, Moony. Stroke my ego.” Sirius’s hand trailed up to his hip, thumb murmuring ‘I adore you. you’re beautiful’ into his skin as he tenderly traced a scar. Remus considered for a moment, trying not to get lost in the twist of Sirius’s smile. 

“It wasn’t bad,” He said at last, “I’ve had worse.”

Sirius snorted, “You better have. You’re not the only one here who’s gotten la pipe courtoisie de Gudgeon.”

“Davey Gudgeon wasn’t terrible,” Remus mused, and snorted as Sirius pulled away, clutching at his heart.

“You wound me!”

“Drama queen.”

“Not even an illusion of pity,” Sirius groaned, falling back beside Remus on the bed, “Remind me why I love you?” And Remus traced his fingertips along Sirius’s cheekbone, and leaned in for a kiss.


End file.
